The Blonde Ballerina
by ElementsOfSapphire
Summary: Short: Major Gambit decides an evening at the ballet is what's in order; the only question is did he expect to have that much insight into the distant future? (More K rating, and not really a Mystery, more a revelation, to be honest.)


**The Blonde Ballerina**

By ElementsOfSapphire

DISCLAIMER/Please Note: This/these stories are all purely for fan-fun purposes only; no copyright infringement intended. I own none of the rights relating to either The Avengers, nor The New Avengers; none of the characters, sets, the lot. I'm awfully sorry if posting such stories relating to the show is not allowed or is unwanted. In which case, please accept my every apology and inform me so I can take them down. Once again, I'm just a teen fan that wants to get their work shown and evaluated, so please tell me if its is wished for my story/stories to be taken down- or even my entire username. Thank you :) ALSO: Use of Puccini's Humming Chorus wasn't meant for advertising or anything. Please tell me if you'd rather the references were removed; I really didn't intend any copyright infringement- I just wanted a cute tune for the characters to jam to.

Extras: Before any of you say something, I am aware the song I chose is an Operatic piece, not ballet. I just happened to be fond of it at the time, and it sort of adds to the cute element of the story, if you listen to it. I really wanted to have a go at a 'by chance' short story, and I sort of hope this lives up to my aim! It was fun to write, anyhow, which is a good thing ;D So, yeah, enjoy, fellow TNA fans alike :)

* * *

"We're going now, Major."

A young man popped his head round the door of a small office. The other he addressed was what, 25 maximum, but it wasn't only the mottled green uniform that gave him apparent seniority: no, the badges on his arm did that on his behalf.

"Where are you boys going then; Sticks and balls again, Murphy?" Inquired the lithe one. He was slim but evidently strong, young but clearly wise. A disrupted childhood and under aged entry to the navy had taught him some of life's hardest lessons, and even at such a minor age, his experience had proved priceless.

"Yes, sir. Except Peters."

"Oh? He's not staying at the barracks is he?" It wasn't that he didn't like Peters, he just wanted his men out for the night, have some time off. If he needed it, they bloody well did.

"Not at all, sir. He's going to watch the ballet with one of the Air Force men, his brother. It's on tour, sir."

The major, who had been consulting the other with his head down, buried beneath a sheath of paper work, looked up in surprise. He hadn't known that the AirForce were off duty as well that night, let alone that Peters, Prove it Peters, should be into ballet. The thought was enough to make him grin as he raised his head, the pen in his mouth clattering back onto the desk.

"My, my, I didn't see them boys as being quite so cultural."

"I don't think it's the culture they're going for." Murphy admitted, looking at his senior with a raised eyebrows. They'd all been offered the opportunity, but only the Major had taken it up. They hadn't known exactly what to expect. He had. "All female cast, sir." He continued, smirking as the other man did, the same thought no doubt appearing in both their minds.

"Sounds about right." The major grinned back, taking a short sip from his whiskey before delving back between the pages and pages of work yet to be completed. "Well if you see him, tell him I'm looking forward to seeing them there, won't you?"

"Aren't you coming with us, sir." Murphy inquired, heartbroken. If the major didn't come, then they would have to come back much earlier. Everyone knew about his love for fun, and if the men were where he could see them, he'd let them do whatever. But out of view, he didn't like to let them too far off leash. With a heavy heart, Murphy awaited his explanation.

"No, no. Last time I went on one of your jolly boys outings, I couldn't stand the next day," the major confessed, but he'd seen the flash of disappointment in the younger man's eyes, and knew it wasn't the lack of his company that should have triggered the reaction. "No, but you make sure none of you are back before three; you've been training solidly for three weeks now, make sure you have a good weekend off."

Murphy's eyes ignited once more."Thank you, sir."

"If it was up to me, you boys would have more free time. You work your bloody socks off."

Murphy tried to imagine having more time off, but all he could see was endless weeks of training to come. He sighed.

"Now, I'll see you tomorrow, yes?"

"Very well, sir." The young man said brightly, cheering up at the prospect of a long night out. A well deserved, overdue, very needed, long night out.

"Go get shit-faced. Bloody lads." The major laughed, and Murphy shut the door in high spirits.

* * *

"Let's have a look at the programme."

Peters' brother passed the small book to the Major. "You can have it, the pictures are tiny," he frowned, tucking his ticket into his breast pocket. It was evident that the pilot hadn't brought it with the aim of using it as a keep sake, that was a given. "Wouldn't want to upset a major, would I now?" He quipped, and received a warm handshake for his efforts.

"Please, I'm off duty." The major looked Larry in the eyes, tightened his grip around the other man's. "Call me Gambit, Mike Gambit."

"Very well; pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gambit."_ Pleasures all yours_, Mike thought to himself, but still bestowed the other man with a meagre smile. Gambit wasn't a big fan of men like this Larry chap, he'd seen them a million times before in the Army- he had no interest in the atmosphere or the dance; just the legs and tutus. That was it. Mike wasn't so innocent as to say that was all he cared for, but at least that wasn't the primary reason he went. But Larry, Mike had his suspicions. If even one of the dancers caught his eye, he'd stay behind to "meet them". It wasn't the major didn't have the confidence, more he actually respected them as real people, not just pretty little dolls on stage for the taking. They were there to perform, not to be ogled. There was a difference, a line that had been drawn. But no doubt Larry didn't know it. And Mike was right.

But soon Gambit was drawn away from his thoughts as the lights went down, and one single spotlight came down on the stage.A pretty little thing with brown hair was suddenly evident, black attire and thick make up mystical against the back drop. He heard Larry whistle lightly in appreciation to himself, and bit back the urge to voice his opinions.

The show had barely been going two minutes and he was already ogling. Gees. Yet his attention wasn't kept on Peters' brother too long, for the song faded into another, one he'd never heard before: Puccini's "Humming Chorus." Suddenly there was a whole gaggle of the dancers on the stage, each prancing and twirling. He was caught in their motion, the way they could work so finely together, how they demanded so much from each other so it could all work so well. No one knew about his secret adoration for the arts, how he often had a go at any old piano, how he often made a quick sketch of their next barrack. He'd lost himself in the music, the jumps and pirouettes, the make up, the lines, the atmosphere, the-

Her.

The girl at the back, taller than the others yet easily one of the slimmest still. He often went to the shows near to wherever he was, he'd seen plenty of people dance before, and although he hated the guts out of oglers, here he was, helpless to do anything but. He'd never felt this way inclined before, just to watch the one dancer, the best dancer, some reason stuffed to the back. The tune enhanced her, so quiet that it let her be loud, so gentle it let her bounce forward. And the face, so far away and yet so beautiful, holding back the want to smile so damn hard. She was in love with that dance, he could tell, especially the parts where she had to twirl the tutu like it was nobody's business. She was perfect; he couldn't understand why she'd been left out to such an insignificant position, why they'd be content to let her be forgotten. He wouldn't let her be.

When the interval came in- thirty seconds, was it? Two hours? Who knew,- he took the pen from his pocket and circled 'Humming from Madame Butterfly, Puccini' in his programme, writing a little note beside it- 'the beautiful girl at the back.' He smiled as he stuffed it back into his pocket, wishing the lights would die again, and that she'd come back on stage, that he could see those eyes again. He'd buy that record the second he left the show, he'd play it until it broke, until the only remnant he had of it, was the pictures of her prancing in his head. How he hated the oglers, but now he couldn't stop. He longed to go behind afterwards, to tell her how she'd enraptured him, but how could he? She didn't know him- what chance would a total stranger have with such a beautiful girl; so young and dewy and talented and, well, perfect. Unfortunately, the answer was a large chance, as Larry found out.

Major Gambit sank back in his bed, his hands closed around his programme, his eyes clenched tight as the record beside him sung out that tune; that wonderful, sweet tune. He could still see her, the way she moved, her little bun higher than all the rest, her toothy smile at the end, so proud, so accomplished, so satisfied. He'd go again tomorrow, he'd time saved up; he'd go behind after and invite her for a drink. Nothing more, just so he could see her as more than just another audience member, just so he could hear the voice that fit with the perfect person, learn her name. He'd see her again, he knew it. He'd never felt this way, and he wasn't going to let it pass him by, let the feeling flutter away like that butterfly. He smiled behind closed eyes, and imagined the pirouette again, let her dance him away. There was a nock. The major hid the pamphlet eagerly under his bed, took the record from the player.

"Come in." He called, and Peters popped his head around the door. "What the devil do you want at this hour?"

"I'm sorry sir, it's just a quick note; thought you'd be interested."

Gambit looked at him with a raised eyebrow, gave him impatient eyes. "Very well, but be quick. I'm struggling with Shakespeare, and I've read this one a million times, so I'm clearly not the brightest spark at the moment."

"It's about My brother, sir, he got a date with that girl you two couldn't keep your eyes off of."

_ What?!_

"The brown haired one?" Gambit asked in vain hope, knowing he was deluding himself.

"The blonde one at the back, sir. He heads or tailed her for a date, and she called wrong." Peters nodded to his Major, began closing the door. "Just thought you'd be interested, sir."

"Thank you, Peters. Give that Larry my wishes?" Peters said he would, and closed the door once again.

Without the light from the hall spilling through, and the record no longer spinning, Gambit felt suddenly alone, suddenly dismal. He'd lost his chance to THAT slime ball? To that idiot, that git? It was ridiculous, he didn't even know her name, only knew she danced, yet the jealousy still racked through him. An anger he could keep, but felt so hot inside, like tar oozing through. It just didn't feel right, he just didn't know what to say, what to do. Being all resided lost him a bloody good chance. He took out his diary aggressively, and began to scrawl everything down, all about that evening, about the girl he'd seen and adored so much, about how he'd been so foolish to have thought that Larry would have kept his paws off. He'd protect her from him if he could. How? No idea, but if an opportunity came, he'd welcome it.

He tore the name of the song from the programme, and circled her, barely recognisable, in the picture on the front, tearing it out too to put with the diary entry. On the back he wrote: "the most beautiful girl I've ever seen", before closing the page, shutting his eyes in reflection as he did. One more time with "humming chorus" then sleep. You'll have forgotten about her by tomorrow. You have to. But even when he left to be a racing driver, he still thought of her when he heard that operatic masterpiece; the girl with a face but no name. He thought of her when he walked past ta touting Ballet in '75, wondering if she was there now, title role, knowing she should have been. He never made the same mistake again though, he was brave now. If he thought they were pretty, he told them. And nine times out of ten, they'd beam at the compliment.

Only one girl was ever as pretty as her, ever stole his heart from the first glance quite as she did. He just wished he knew her name, wished she'd been a major role so she'd have been printed in the pamphlet. He didn't know it was the same girl; that one name, that was all he wanted.

* * *

Purdey shut the diary suddenly, her fingers still clenched tight around the little cutting. He'd said she could check through the box for him, said that she wouldn't find any reading or anything interesting other than the way of girlfriend past; and yet... This. Did he not know? Did he not remember? Of course he did, he just had never made the connection.

She had.

Her heart was pounding, her forehead sweating. This was impossible, it couldn't be, and yet the ink was old and the copy of 'humming' discovered in his record collection, when she checked it, was old and scratched. She refused to believe it, falling against his plastic covered sofa, only just missing the paint pots. In her hand was her, several years earlier, before she'd even known Gambit existed. But here it was, written in blue, his true adoration, his true love. He'd been in amore of her for seven years, nearly eight, and she'd only known him for three. It was ridiculous, impossible, unheard of. Why had he never said he'd known Larry when he shot him? Probably didn't want to hurt her, probably thought the last thing she needed was him saying "told you so". That, and wasn't Larry still Peters then? Yes, that would be it; he hadn't fallen out with his father yet. And didn't he still have that natural blonde hair then? Why he did dye his hair... Mike hadn't been waiting three years for that day, he'd been waiting double that; never pushing, never being forward like Larry had. Did he even make the connection that the girl had been her? There was no name anywhere, what if he hadn't? What if he didn't even realise that the ghost of desires past was living under his nose; was his best friend? Surely he'd recognised her? But then she did have short hair now, and there was also... Her heart wretched at the prospect of his age old longing to see that girl again as she remembered what her father had taught her the day they'd walked past her childhood ballerina hero. "Don't try and remember it, Purdey, my dear. The more you remember something, the more you forget the truth." Purdey's heart leapt. He'd thought of her so much he'd distorted the original version: now nameless and faceless. No, no he wouldn't forget. He came from the same time as Larry, he saw that he was going to be a bastard from the start; he'd have protected her if Peters hadn't joint the Air Force and moved to a new regiment with Larry. Major Mike Gambit was as good a man as Agent Mike Gambit. And he was about to see that girl again.

Gambit tutted over his desk. It was nice to have his own office, but with it came even more paper work, and he wasn't too comfortable with that. It wasn't so much the work as the time it consumed, and he was very aware he'd left Purdey at his flat after lunch, and she'd asked to go through his boxes for him. And for some ridiculous reason, he'd said yes. Knowing her, she'd probably have made an itinerary of his every past girlfriend, every mistake and job, every stupid confession. Why he'd let her lose with the diaries was beyond him. He scratched his head with his pen again, struggling to put the last mission back into chronological order for the files sake. He half thought about making it up, but then knew that they could be checked against Steeds, and then he'd be in, well, the shit. He sighed, began scrawling random birds and mythical lines on the scrap paper, letting his mind relax before he'd try and think hard again.

The light went out, and the scratch of a needle hitting a spinning record was the only sound in the late evening silence. But it was as Mike began to stand to protest against the random intruder, thoroughly confused, that a single light from the spotlights recently installed turned on, and the sight that greeted him shocked him back to his seat.

He couldn't quite breath, couldn't make sense of it. Was he asleep? Was he under drugs? His pen stabbed him. No, he was definitely awake. "You're her..?" Was all he managed to breathe before the tune began, and the figure changed stance, began dancing.

The hair didn't quite make a bun now, but everything else looked unchanged, almost like a ghost from his past had simply stepped out of the books. It stole the air from the lungs; was it the shock or just her? The two women he'd loved in the world had then, quite literally, become the same person, and he had no idea why he'd never seen it before. Was it that she was now this strong woman, not the little ballerina he'd adored so long ago? Was it the growing blonde bob rather than those long waves all pulled back into a bun? He had no idea, he felt foolish, but the feeling subsided to confusion quite soon.

Purdey had never told him anything about her past further than a dodgy, foggy outline, and here she was scraping it all back up into its most poignant form for him. And him alone.

Mike watched in awe as she jumped and pirouetted and went on point in all the right places; not one move forgotten, evidently rehearsed many, many times before. The costume itself wasn't crumpled from storage, the little black tutu still frizzy and bouncy as she swirled her long legs behind herself. The feather crown she wore wasn't degrading, wasn't fading. Wouldn't it have by now, if it had been in storage? Purdey swooped again as the tempo swapped, and he was greeted with that same, distant smile he'd seen those years before- held back but sparkling in her eyes. There it was again, that love and passion he'd never seen in her since. Determination, pride, satisfaction- but this sort of withheld grin? No, he'd never seen her quite so delighted. Dance was clearly her secret desire, as the arts had been for him back then. Something they did, but no one else had to know. Of course the costume was still perfect; it was still in use, never packed away for good. She'd dance to make herself come alive when she was alone, the whole outfit taking her away and back to that vulnerable stage where she could become that young girl again, that woman before the Ministry and Hong Kong and France and Larry even.

Good gosh.

Mike's eyes widened as he continued to watch, having suddenly made the connection, having suddenly remembered why that Doomer had looked so familiar. Larry Peters, airforce, dating a ballet dancer. Larry Doomer, airforce, broke a ballet dancer's heart. Gambit you're meant to be a bloody agent, how did you miss this before?! You could have saved this bloody girl, the little, delicate one before you right now. You could have stopped Peters from going back, from tossing that coin. She could still be dancing now if it wasn't for your bloody nerves.

Tears began to well in his eyes as the music began to die and the girl he remembered slowly faded back to Purdey, in fancy dress. The personality changed, but the appearance stayed, and he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing. Maybe, in a selfish way, Larry Doomer had been good for her, good for them. He'd created this independent fighter, the girl that can look after herself, that can dig back her past and stand there with a smile. He'd created the girl Mike was completely in love with from the girl he'd adored so long ago. He'd made her the definition of perfect, and that must be worth something.

Purdey posed as the music faded, that same pose from a million years ago, eyes shinning into the spotlight. The tears had finally left Mike's eyes as Purdey skipped into the dark again, momentarily disappearing before the lights all switched back on, and he was exposed to his own vulnerability; tear streaks still flowing down his cheeks. Purdey's eyes turned to concern as she floated over, leant across the desk to wipe some of the damp tracks away with a delicate hand. Mike flinched away, almost afraid she'd be freezing to the touch, being the ghost of the past she was. Purdey scrunched her face in confusion, but then continued regardless, knowing Mike was probably having as hard a time believing it as she originally did.

"But this time," she whispered softly, moving the papers aside so she could crawl up and kneel on the desk before him, "you get to learn her name- and it's Purdey." She breathed, leaning forward on her name, lips soft, dewy and pouted. Mike saw her approaching, but he was unsure what to feel; which woman was this? Purdey or the girl? Would she dance with him or rather run with him? He stopped her with a steady hand, placing it softly against bet cheek. She was warm beneath the make up, and for some reason that actually surprised the man. His thumb strummed gently against the pale foundation to the soft swish of the eye liner, and he felt his heart soar. This wasn't either girl, at this point, it was both of them together: conjoined, coexistence.

"You ok?" She asked almost silently, and the sweet breath was so familiar that he was reminded this wasn't a figure of his imagination, but a real person. Why was he struggling so ridiculously? What was wrong with him?

"I'm sorry," he replied, letting his hand slide from her face and down her arm, "I'm sorry I let you down." Purdey looked confused, her eyebrows furrowed beneath their whitened form. "I could have stopped him. Larry, I mean. I was there, I could have stopped him ever hurting you." Purdey laughed softly, leant back in towards the man.

"You didn't even know me, Mike. You couldn't exactly chase me around Britain, could you?" Mike mentally debated that. He could have, if he'd really tried, but she had a point. "But he's also not now, is he? And this time, the show came to you, and that 'beautiful girl' is already here. She's been here three years, and now it's your turn to turn back the clock and act out the reminiscence."

The girl softly moved away and padded back towards the record, placed the needle back down. "Now, close your eyes, and hold this." The lights died once again, and Mike was aware of the girl passing him an object. He instinctively curled his hands around it, felt what seemed to be the cold pages of an old book, a musky aroma meeting his nose. He dared peak down at it, but he was tsked into shutting his lids once again.

"Imagine you're in your bed again, Major. Outside a truck load of unruly lads are coming home after a long night out, but you're blissfully unaware. Puccini is keeping you awake, but your eyes are tight shut. In your hands is a programme; you've just gone to see some small town touring ballet and you happened to spot a rather pretty little thing whilst you were there. Only, she wasn't little, but rather tall- she stood out to you; you fell irrationally in love with her. But this time, this time you reach out as you open your eyes; come on, reach out. Open your eyes Mike."

Mike almost started as he did, he was sure the voice had been coming from further off in the room, but here, right in his face, was that same woman. The lips were barely an inch from his, and when his eyes were finally open, he realised she'd already met him for a kiss; one hand placed softly around his neck, the other stabling herself against the table. His held out hand slackened, and he transferred it to that deep ebony bodice the girl wore. It was so silky, so smooth. Just as he'd imagined it would, all that time ago. "It's valentines day, Major Gambit."_ So it was_, Mike mused as her kisses moved to his forehead. "And you shouldn't be working at eight o'clock in the evening on such an occasion." She smiled as she pulled away to an easier distance, holding out her hand, waiting for him to take it. "Want to take me for a drink? I've heard from a reliable source you'd rather fancy to."

He did rather, now she mentioned it. But first he wanted to act on that niggling feeling, see if he could rid of it somehow...

"Can you do it just one more time, for old times sakes? It's just back then, I promised myself I'd go again if ever I had the chance." He looked at her hopefully, eyes sparkling. "And I do, right now." Purdey didn't look too keen on the idea. Her head bowed and her hand in his slackened slightly. Mike thought perhaps he'd pushed a little too much, but then her eyes snapped back up to meet his, and that old toothy grin reignited.

"Take a seat, Major. It's front row." She grinned, and Mike Gambit; agent Mike Gambit, did just that. And like he wished he had, like he dreamed he had those years ago, he watched her dance a second time. He knew this time that he'd see her after the show, take her for a drink, learn her name. And she knew that this time, she'd chosen the right man. She'd told her mother that night that there's had been the most wonderful man at the show, but she'd brought the wrong one home; the right night, the wrong man.

Tonight she'd spend with the right one.

They let the dance take them, and suddenly they were both vulnerable again.

And adoring it.

* * *

And I am DONE! Dunurn!

This wasn't exactly the original ending; that had Mike watching another girl dance, that turned out to be Anna, their daughter. But I scratched that idea for length purposes. If anyone does want to read it, then I might add it later for the laugh ;D

Anyway, this was just a short little fic because I haven't posted in forever, and decided I would put some of my more recent works out there.

Hope you enjoyed it!


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